


The Terrible Fate of the Principality Aziraphale

by WorseOmens



Series: Crowley, Aziraphale & Family Short Stories [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale’s Bookshop, Horror ambience, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pregnant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Scary Crowley (Good Omens), but nothing bad happens, heavenly bureaucracy, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:13:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorseOmens/pseuds/WorseOmens
Summary: Heaven notices (eventually) that Aziraphale has been missing for some time. They assume the worst — and find something worse still.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Crowley, Aziraphale & Family Short Stories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806880
Comments: 31
Kudos: 665





	The Terrible Fate of the Principality Aziraphale

Michael dropped a file on Gabriel’s desk. He looked up, raising a brow. “What’s this?” he said, opening it. 

“Earth observation files,” he replied, tapping his foot anxiously as Gabriel flicked through. “Taken from the last seven months.” 

He pursed his lips, and shrugged. “The demon is still on earth, yeah. We knew that,” he said. 

_”Only_ the demon,” he said meaningfully. “Aziraphale vanished from all records seven months ago.”

“Did he now?” he said with interest, looking back at the pictures. Crowley went to and from the Bentley, alone, seemingly talking to thin air. He ate at restaurants at tables for two, and oddly, his plate was always in front of the wrong chair. Aziraphale was nowhere to be seen. “And the demon...?”

“Under control, as far as we can tell. He stole some human confectionary from a windowsill weeks ago, but that’s the worst sin we’ve recorded from him in some time,” he said. He crossed his arms, tilting his head to look at the odd pictures. “It seems he’s gone insane. He behaves like Aziraphale is still with him.”

Gabriel hummed, flipping the file shut. “Six thousand years on earth will do that to a demon,” he said. “Seeing as Aziraphale was immune to hellfire, I imagine his... snake... must have found a different weakness of his.”

“You think he’s dead?”

“Sure. What else? He’s invisible?” he said with a scoff. “The demon could resist holy water. He must have the power.”

“I was under the impression they were, um... fond of each other,” he said hesitantly. “Why would he kill his accomplice?”

“You said yourself, Michael. He’s gone insane,” he said. “All we need to do now is investigate, confirm the death, and send out a memo. This should send a very clear message to the lower spheres, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” he said, picking up the file. 

“Great. His material home should be a good place to start,” he said with a corporate smile. 

“You mean — I’m going down there myself?” he said, with a lurch of fright. He vividly recalled the demon lounging in the bath of holy water, outstretched, demanding a towel. He shuddered. “With... with the demon?”

“You brought up the file. You take the case,” he said, going back to his paperwork. “Just don’t get caught. Simple.”

Michael stood on the doorstep of AZ Fell’s, on the darkest night scheduled for that year. He swallowed hard. Just don’t get caught, that was Gabriel’s sage advice... Crowley rarely left the shop during the day, at least not for very long, leaving him no choice but to investigate while he was still in the house, asleep. Stealth was essential. With a small prayer, he softly opened the door. The lock didn’t resist the small miracle he used to jostle it free. 

The shop floor was as silent as the grave. He looked back and forth, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing. He edged forward, holding his breath half to muffle the noise, and half to block out the terrible stench of evil that saturated every book and shelf. This was undoubtedly a demon’s lair. It sent a shiver down his essence, thinking what an insult it was, for an occult being to nest in what had once been an angel’s headquarters. He probably got some perverse pleasure from it. Trying not to think about those terrible, mocking yellow eyes, he pushed on through the dark. 

The back room was clear, too. He saw no sign of blood, or scorch marks from some terrible battle, or even a piece of Aziraphale’s tattered ethereal body. Maybe Crowley had eaten him. That’s what snakes did, swallow their prey whole. He arrived at the foot of a staircase, leading up into an even more cavernous darkness. He cowered. Crowley would have no trouble blending into those shadows, if he was awake. If humans knew what things could be hiding in the dark, they wouldn’t teach their children not to fear it.

Tentatively, he took a step. Then another, and another, each one braced for a creak of wood underfoot. Any sound could wake the demon. He almost collapsed in relief when he reached the top step in silence. 

There were not many doors here. Empty doorframes lined the hall for the most part, proudly showing rooms stuffed with books, once he crept close enough to see through the shadows. Each one was empty, devoid of life. He snuck down the hall, dread rising in his gut. Two doors faced one another at the end of the hall. Behind one, there was a slumbering demon. Behind the other... who knew? With a pleading glance at the ceiling, he put his ear against the door on his left. Something breathed inside. 

He drew back, biting his lip to silence himself. That was Crowley’s room. It had to be. He pivoted around, listening to the other instead, keeping a paranoid eye on the door over the hall. He heard nothing in there. If a demon was to keep a trophy, or some sort of souvenir, from his angelic conquest... he’d probably keep it close to his own room, wouldn’t he? He turned the doorknob, and slipped inside. 

He blinked, surprised as the darkness deepened yet again. There was soft carpet underfoot, with polka dots. Odd choice for a trophy room. His eyes steadily adjusted as he cast them around, spotting a small chest in the corner, and a table of some kind with a blanket on top. Hm... He’d expected something more gruesome, like... like a broken halo in a glass case, or a pair of severed white wings hanging on the wall. The silhouettes in the room were indistinct and perfectly still, without a hint of stolen angel’s grace. A car rushed by outside. Its headlights threw shafts of light in through the shuttered windows, sweeping across the item in the middle of the room like a searchlight, illuminating the unassuming shape of a baby’s crib. Michael clapped a hand over his mouth. 

He reached out with a shaking hand, brushing his fingers over the polished wood as if to prove to himself it was real. It was brand new. A mobile hung over it; models of all the planets in the solar system, eerily motionless... He raised his eyes, his jaw dropping as he saw why this room felt darker than the rest. The ceiling was black, endless black, hand-painted with an enormous nebula that swept across the canvas in a storm of colour. This was no meaningless coincidence. Crowley had put thought and effort into this. He wasn’t just skulking around on earth doing nothing, like they’d hoped. He was expecting a baby. He planned to rear it in this very building, once an angel’s sanctuary, now a demon’s nest.

Michael stumbled backwards out of the infernal nursery, horror rising up his throat. He felt sick. He turned to the bedroom door, the only one he hadn’t touched. Crowley himself was obviously not pregnant, not on their footage. Might he be brooding on a clutch of eggs? But then he’d need more cribs, wouldn’t he? Michael’s mind began to turn toward the more likely option, though it chilled him to the core. Perhaps... perhaps Crowley had taken some poor human captive, keeping them prisoner until they bore his child. Whatever fate would befall them when they outlived their usefulness made Michael’s heart twist. He had to do something. He’d looked that terrible demon in the eye, and he knew it would be a sin to leave any of God’s own mortals in his clutches. 

Still hoping to catch him by surprise, he turned the door handle slowly. He peered into the room, blinking as he let his corporation’s eyes adjust. There was a lump on the bed, on the side closest to him. Michael squinted. It was hard to tell from the back, but that curly hair looked familiar, and the line of those shoulders... The doorknob slipped from his hand. He didn’t realise he’d let go until it knocked loudly against the wall. 

The figure stirred. Michael took a sharp breath, flinching, but held his ground. He had a human to rescue. Crowley was nowhere to be seen; maybe he’d gone elsewhere, hunting for his next sin. The person in the bed sat up, rubbing their eyes as the sheets slipped away from their round, pregnant belly. Michael didn’t have time to stop them before they reached over and clicked the lamp on. 

Aziraphale froze, staring at Michael. Michael stared back, astonished, his eyes dropping to his belly as fresh convulsions of horror wracked his mind. No, no, no... Not this, anything but this. Aziraphale had a good heart, he was just misguided — he didn’t deserve _this!_ It was a fate worse than death: an angel impregnated with demon-spawn. At any moment, as they stood motionless with shock, he expected Aziraphale to beg him for forgiveness, to take him back to Heaven, be rid of the monster in his womb, and escape the wrath of its infernal father.

Aziraphale clutched at the baby bump, as if to shield it from him. “Crowley! Help!” he wailed. 

“No!” Michael said, petrified, waving his hands as if to push the scream away. 

A dark, wiry shape lurched into a sitting position on the bed, throwing back the covers which had concealed him. Michael whimpered. A chilling hiss split the air as his angel’s distress wrenched the demon into immediate wakefulness, teeth bared and eyes glowing. He spotted Michael’s heel vanish down the hall. He tasted Heaven on the air. He didn’t need any more reasons to leap over Aziraphale and give chase, skidding out the room as his runaway momentum slammed him into the nursery door. He pushed himself off the wall, propelling himself into pursuit. The stairs slowed Michael down. Crowley bellowed furiously, bearing down on him quickly. 

Michael’s foot barely hit the ground floor when Crowley took a flying leap at him. He bowled him over, slamming his face into the floorboards with the telltale _crack_ of a broken nose. A hand clamped Michael’s face to the ground. 

“I knew you were stupid, Michael, but this?” he snarled into his ear, his bodyweight pinning him down. “Have a deathwish, do we? Coming into my home, threatening my family?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pain coursing through his skull. “I’m sorry. I didn’t — I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said through gritted teeth. It left a bad taste in his mouth, apologising to a demon, but the cold, metallic tang of fear was far more potent. No one knew the full extent of Crowley’s power. He didn’t want to find out, not after seeing him bathe in holy water with his own two eyes. He _especially_ didn’t want to find out what he’d done to Aziraphale, to mould him into such a willing host.

“You crossed the line, Michael,” he said, tightening his grip on his skull. “What did I tell you at my trial? _Leave us alone._ ”

“I know. I know,” he gasped. Aziraphale’s cry echoed in his head. He’d called the demon to his defence, against a fellow angel who he ought to have seen as a saviour. He was a Principality, a protector by nature, and he’d chosen to guard the abomination inside him. He wasn’t dead, no, but he was too far gone for Michael to help him. “I won’t come back, I swear.”

“Who says I’m going to give you the chance?” he said menacingly. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t burn you to a crisp and send you back to Heaven in a shoebox.”

He gulped. “Because — Because no one knows about your spawn,” he said, desperately blurting out his words before Crowley lost his patience.

“Baby,” he corrected dryly. 

“Your baby. Of course,” he said. He’d sooner deceive Heaven than die — or worse, befall the same despicable fate as Aziraphale. “If you kill me, they’ll know you have something to hide. I can keep your secret. I’ll — I’ll tell them there was nothing here.”

“Is that a promise, Michael?” he said in a low, forceful voice. “Because you know if you’re lying to me, I will _find_ you, and when I do... You’ll see why humans really fear Hell.”

“It’s a promise. I swear. I won’t breathe a word of it, not to anyone,” he said breathlessly. He grimaced, trembling in the long silence that followed. Finally, Crowley’s weight lifted from his back, and he was left only with a bloody nose and scratches on his head. Easy to hide, when he returned the corporation. He cried out in relief, scrambling to his feet. 

Crowley watched him with a hard-eyed stare. “Get out,” he snapped. Michael nodded, and bolted for the door. The bell chimed aggressively as he fled, leaving the demon alone in the darkened shop. He heard a floorboard creak, almost inaudibly, at the top of the stairs.

Crowley sighed, dragging his hand over his face and turning to jog back up the stairs. “I’ve seen him off, angel. He’s gone.”

“Oh, is he? Bother,” he said, peering over the top of the stairs with a flaming tartan slipper in his hand. “I was all set for an ambush.”

Crowley gave a snort of laughter as he reached him. He kissed him on the forehead, rubbing his belly with one hand. “I love you, angel,” he said. There was a kick against his hand, and he leaned down to speak to the bump. “Yes, and you too, trouble. I didn’t forget.”

Aziraphale dropped the slipper, and the flames sputtered out. He slipped his foot back into it. “Jolly good. Shall we get back in bed, dear?” he said, patting his belly happily. “I’m rather getting the hang of this sleep malarkey.”

“What did you just — ? _Malarkey?”_

**Author's Note:**

> Michael did keep his word, in case anyone was worrying


End file.
